


Hospitality

by APendingThought



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Cardiophilia, Heartbeats, Horror, M/M, Poor Katsuki Yuuri, Romance, vampire!Victor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-01-07 21:19:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12240798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APendingThought/pseuds/APendingThought
Summary: “Well, now that we are properly acquainted.” Victor's slow smile spreads like ink across his cheek. “Next I must inform you, Yuuri from Japan, that I am a vampire.”





	1. Introductions

He keeps his eye trained on the boy as he wanders up and down the aisles, eyes wide and fixed on the ornate ceiling above. Passion for their God has inspired humans for generations. Leave it to Russia to go over the top. The place looks downright gaudy, in Victor's humble opinion and his opinions are rarely humble. One can't blink without catching their eye on a precious stone or polished surface. Really, it's overkill. Trying too hard to impress.

First comers to this place are always stunned and staring. After so long, he himself rarely even noticed them anymore. A cathedral in Saint Petersburg tended to look and smell the same after a millennia but the Savior of the Blood Church had always kept his interest peaked time and time again.

So much blood had been spilt here. His countrymen were so brutal towards eachother. Maybe that was why he liked it so much.

It made hunting a lot less work when humans just flowed in and out of their own accord. So many dark corners and confessionals to lurk in, so many tapestries and gilded surfaces to stain. As hunting grounds, it made logical sense though his betters berated him for it endlessly as only immortals could.

_Shame on you. Even a blood drinker living on the fringe has more respect than to kill on sacred ground._

Old timers. Relics. They were as uninspiring as the wine here.

I’ll kill where and when I please. Victor had made this very clear each time he was brought before the tribunal. Offenses on human terms were delicate matters even among his kind. It made more sense for them to feed on more pedantic grounds--in dirty, smelly forests or skeevy roadside conveniences. All dark, abandoned, disgusting places he would not frequent if you paid him. No force on Earth could ever make him stoop so commonly. Viktor Nikiforov had more class than to take his meals on dirty surfaces. When he dined, it was in style. 

So what if it was blasphemy.

He’d been sitting in the creaking pews a good while now, like a snake on a rock, staring at the people going in and out for hours. It was easy to stalk here; none of the humans who came here were ever fully aware of their surroundings-too breathless with the glamor of it or lost in fervent prayer. One quick bite was all it took. He’d even leave a scarlet stain or two on one the pristine podium in a moment of overzealous snacking. What was one more sin in this place? Besides, if Jesus could bleed here year round, so could his flock.

The boy is dark of hair and pale of face, s simple, unspoken beauty about him. His foreign paleness bears a distinctive hue that sets him apart from European breeds, a sheen akin to an eggshell. His eyes are wide and chocolate brown, lashes long and dark. Something in his gaze is wide open and vulnerable, honest to a fault. He appears lost but doesn't mind, wandering in a daze; utterly taken in by this monument to a God he’s never met. Pretty and distracted, more ideal prey doesn't exist in Victor's estimation.

The ice blue gaze drifts, following the boy as he lingers before the dais, completely unaware that the staff and groundskeepers have all departed for the evening, that visiting hours are long done. He ought to be checking his watch, ought to be hailing a taxi back to his hotel. If he only knew what was good for him. If he only realized how perilous such deep distraction can be.

Viktor almost chortles with the delight of it. It is now just the three of them in this huge house. The Vampire, the Tourist and the holy ghost.

It was time for introductions.

A vampire’s movements are undetectable to humans, so much so that they give the illusion of fluid transport. Victor often whistled as he strolled down the streets by day, just to maintain his normalcy and not frighten any children.

“Hello.” Jolted from his reverie, the youth spins around.

“Oh!” His heart trips deliciously in his chest, filling the hall with its frantic music. The words in his flustered head stumble over eachother on their way past his lips. “Pardon me! I didn't...um, didn't know you were--um, you were there.”

Victor knows how he appears to them, can tell by the rush of blood to his victims’ cheeks that he is both flawless and alluring. All sharp angles, pale skin and piercing eyes. He is a vision, skirting the line between ethereal beauty and unnatural terror. The boy is afraid, the scent of his adrenaline distinctive and heady like musk. He can’t always tell by the heartbeat—it thrums in identical patterns for fear and attraction.

“Do you like this place?” Victor murmurs, polite small talk his specialty. There would be time enough for real fear and not paltry nerves. “It is the most beautiful in St. Petersburg I think.”

“Yes.” Breathes the boy. The polite exchange begins to ease his victim's discomfort and his cacophonous heart slows. “It…it’s my first time here.”

“Ah.” Victor smiles. He is, Victor notices, in fact little more than a boy. His youthful face is slightly chubby though his frame is that of a matured athlete. His pulse is strong and most definitely trained. “Your name?”

“Yuuri.” The boy blinks, as though trying to shake off Victor’s gaze as he would a hand on his shoulder. “From Japan.”

“Yuuri from Japan. Lovely.” Victor tugs away his expensive leather glove and extends a naked hand. “I am Victor. Yoroshiku.”

The boy named Yuuri takes the offered hand and if he notices anything untoward about the texture, he has clearly been raised too strictly to comment. His body shivers slightly at the chill feel of his fingers however. Someone had once told him they felt like marble.

“Well, now that we are properly acquainted.” Victor's slow smile spreads like ink across his cheek. “Next I must inform you, Yuuri from Japan, that I am a vampire.”

The Japanese boy's breath halts.

Immediately, he is rigid with fear, frozen where he stands. His face goes oh so white. Victor listens to his heart in stereo as the agitated vibrations deflect across the gilded domed ceiling, dancing about his hypersensitive ears. Self-consciously, the boy’s fluttering hands dart up to his chest as though to shield the precious organ inside him.

“Oh no, don’t.” Victor croons, placing porcelain hands over the boy's clasped trembling fingers. Easily, he lowers Yuuri’s guard to his sides, freeing the muffled rhythms. “We’re getting off to a bumpy start, aren't we?” He admits, tapping one alabaster finger playfully over his breast. “You’ve got a lot to say in there.” Victor’s register lowers conspiratorially as though conversing with the panicky muscle itself and not its terrified owner. “Shhh…”

The boy, meanwhile, is once more finding air difficult to take in. His throat constricts in short gasps, paralyzed lungs seizing in terror. Victor pats him on the chest affectionately, hoping to soothe but his nervous little heart pounds as though trying to escape. 

“You mustn’t be afraid.” He tells him, and his voice drifts sweetly as perfume. “I wouldn’t hurt you.”

He is falling desperately in love with the little movements of his throat as Yuuri swallows thickly, wide eyes darting left to right, searching for escape.

“Y-you mean you don’t w-want to…to drink my blood?”

Victor rolls his eyes. How charming he is!

“Well naturally I want that. I’m famished! But I assure you, dear boy, I am not some savage monster.” His eyes travel downward, level with Yuuri’s heart. “But I must admit, if I were, I’d bite into you as one bites into a ripe peach in summer.” He winks.

Yuuri whimpers in fear. Victor nearly hits himself. He’d meant that as a compliment. The poor thing will make himself sick soon or worse, faint and then there won't be any amusement at all. Just wasted time and a cold unappetizing dinner.

“Why don’t we sit together and talk?” Victor offers hastily, gesturing to the row of pews. “You may ask me questions if you like.”

Yuuri’s listless eyes wander to the wooden benches. Dumbly, he nods, lowering himself gracelessly into the confines of the pew as though he has no more strength left to stand. Victor is just grateful he's accepted the invitation at all despite every instinct urging him to bolt.

Victor licks his lips anxiously. “Well?”

Methodically, the bow swallows. Breathes. Forms his thoughts.

“You live here?” Yuuri asks.

“Hunt here.” Victor corrects. “I prefer my repast in clean places.”

His response does little to slow the dire pace of Yuuri's heart but he bravely poses his next question.

“How old are you?”

“Rude.” The shadow of a disdainful grimace passes across Victor’s perfect face. “But if you must know, I existed long before this place.”

“Are there more like you?” Yuuri asks tensely. Victor is quiet for a moment, counting the audible beats inside his head, biding his time until the din evens out to a less erratic pattern before responding.

“You don’t want to know that really.” Victor sighs. “But we're more populous than you'd care for.”

"Do all vampires..." The lad gropes for a proper word. "...look like you?"

Victor snorts derisively. "Well, I'm not a cliche my dear." His belly is growing tight, he is practically drooling from hunger. "Is that your final question?" He asks impatiently.

"Can you...hear my heart beat?" He breathes in wonder. "Right now?"

Victor's shoulders shake as though he finds that funny.

"It's the holiest music there is." He says seriously, attempting to meet the boy's gaze but this proves too much for him and he looks away.

A pregnant pause fills the space. Victor checks his expensive watch, scowling briefly up at St. Martin as the painted saint glares accusingly from above. He’d never liked that one much. Yuuri seems to have calmed a little, the light conversation easing his flight instinct, taking an edge off the adrenaline. He is still flighty but curiosity has overcome his panic. Victor languishes in the heat he feels rising off his skin. He likes that about humans, such fascinating breathing ornaments they are. So full of light, and music and love. Victor bites his lip, a low whine growing in his throat. The desperate sound sends new tremors through his victim's body. 

“How will you…” Yuuri’s lashes lower, his voice a weak whisper. “Um, how will you do it?”

An invite! At last! Victor nearly sags with relief. By way of answer, he extends his white hand towards the boy, palm up. Yuuri is clearly trying to cling to his bravery as he lays his trembling wrist in Victor’s icy grip. He exhales slowly.  
He’s never been self conscious about taking life in holy places. Jesus, too, was once a mortal with very mortal needs. Without hesitation, he forcefully wrenches up the sleeve concealing Yuuri’s delicate flesh. Yuuri flinches away a little in fear.

His arm is strong and white and finely boned, muscles taut and rippling with tension. Victor traces the lattice outline of pale blue veins that wind up and about his wrist, traveling upward and disappearing into his bicep. The sight of them alone excites his fangs as they prick sharply against his gumline.

He traces a delicate finger up the inside of Yuuri’s wrist, thrilling at the tremor it causes in the young human. He is so very close.

“Make a fist.” He commands. Yuuri obeys though shakily. Victor watches the blood beneath his pale skin surge and pool, pumping exquisitely through his veins, making them grow fat and visible. Victor dips his head low, tracing a hot wet line with his tongue, marking a desirable entry point. Yuuri’s skin is soft with sweat, so enticing he, too, feels dizzy with need.

His eyes glance upward meeting Yuuri’s wide ones, asking permission. He is almost too distracted by the working of Yuuri’s throat as he heavily swallows to notice the slight assenting nod.

“Breathe slowly.” Victor assures him. “It will be over soon.”

His grip on Yuuri’s wrist now tightens like iron and Yuuri gasps, pulling away instinctively. Quicker than sight, he is upon him, fangs bared and sunk deep into the flesh of his wrist.

Yuuri makes a strained, choked sound as the sharp points enter his flesh. Victor hears none of it.

Oh! His whole body hums with delight. The taste is beyond description! When, in his memory, had blood ever pumped so willingly across his tongue? Raced through him like the memory of sunlight? The welcome rush of heat and salt flows freely and he drinks it down like good wine. 

If he is not careful, he will never let go.

Yuuri’s breath hitches in renewed panic, instinct urging him to twist desperately away but he finds this to be an impossibility. Victor has latched on with intense tenacity, drawing his blood upward and in, devouring him. He sits prone, helpless and completely at his mercy.

_Don’t let the heart stop. _Victor reminds himself. He must be mindful to slow down, savor this while it lasts. Once the blood takes on a bitter taste, the life giving iron source is depleted. The poor boy will be in mortal danger if that happens. Blood taken from this location is often cool in comparison to the corded veins embedded in the throat, or the thick powerful pump of the aorta where the human body stores its vital heat. But Yuuri’s blood is so vibrant, bursting with adrenaline and other surprising notes, he hardly tastes the difference. It is more nuanced than the blood of his native homeland, less greasy for lack of a better term.__

__At length Yuuri’s arm begins to shake more violently, eyes fluttering closed and fighting to stay conscious as he is drained. His lips are shivery and white. A low moan meets Victor’s ears above the erratic heartbeat. He pauses, blocking the flow of blood with his tongue. Gently and painlessly as possible, the vampire withdraws himself from Yuuri’s flesh._ _

__Yuuri falls boneless and exhausted against the pew, chest heaving. Victor wipes his chin, not wishing to stain the Louis Vuitton blazer he’d become so fond of. He squeezes Yuuri’s wrist until the flow of blood slows to a trickle, binding him up again with his own cotton handkerchief. Cotton is lovely stuff, absorbs so efficiently and neatly. Yuuri shuffles away from him, tries to run but he cannot even stand. Dizziness overtakes him and he crumples back onto the hard wooden bench, sweating and trembling. He looks ill._ _

__“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Victor asks, dabbing delicately at the corner of his mouth where some syrupy blood still hangs._ _

__Listlessly, Yuuri shakes his head. Victor glances at his watch. It is well past midnight. Time to retire._ _

__He looks down at his latest victim, curled up in a shivering, anemic ball._ _

__He simply can’t abandon him in this state, can he? What would Jesus think?_ _


	2. Be My Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why don't you stay for the night?"  
> Night!  
> "Or maybe...a bite?"  
> Bite!  
> "I can show you my favorite obsession."
> 
> \--Frank N Furter
> 
> Victor brings his dinner home for dessert

_“Everything old is new again, everything under the sun…”_

Victor tucks into a local kiosk to purchase a bag of child’s biscuits and a bottle of juice. He looks utterly inconspicuous at this unsociable hour. Yuuri, for his part, does not alarm the aging shopkeeper with his unresponsiveness, one arm slung over Victor’s shoulders. He simply hangs there, involuntarily playing his role in the ruse. It requires precious little art to mask a feeding victim on the streets of Russia. Stumbling, incoherent, alarmingly pale people are common in a city where vodka flows cheaper than water. No wonder Drac never moved out of Bulgaria! The slavs have such deep attachments to their vices.

Speaking of vices…

If Yuuri from Japan seems unnaturally lethargic to the sharp-eyed outsider, it is because his tolerance is laughably low and it is the weekend. Victor tells himself it is the undue stress placed on his smaller than average build that makes him so pliable now as he wends his way home. Locals would have at least been able to crawl away but this deceptively fragile person is clearly not functional at the moment. 

He hadn’t tasted defective in any way--quite healthy in fact; clean and pure. The rich claret conjured such enchanting pictures--a steaming island across the sea. _Brined air. Golden castles. Pale blossoms to match the shade of his cheeks._ A man’s blood tells his story. He is eager to learn more.  


Sodium streetlights glare across his path as he strolls across the bridge, away from the stale marketplace and declining public square. He prefers more fashionable districts for his dwelling. The older, bloodier parts of this city hold no charms for an elitist prude such as himself. Besides, he needs no distasteful reminders of his age. He craves new things. 

There’s a bounce in his step, a tingling, full-bodied warmth spreading though him making him giddy as he clutches Yuuri’s sagging weight against his side. That’s what Yuuri feels like—an indulgence. He hums a little tune, sending a family of alley cats hissing and scattering in his wake. Finally reaching the door of his flat, he is able to lift the boy fully in a bridal carry without looking like a serial killer. Stepping across his threshold, he shuts the door behind him.

Makka rushes up to greet him.

“Hello my dear.” He coos while she snuffles busily about his legs, pawing at the hand dangling from her master’s arms. She barks a question.

“Shhh! Makka, quiet!” Taking slow, purposeful steps into the sitting room, he sets Yuuri down gingerly on the plush cushion of his sofa and leans in to assess. 

The boy breathes deeply and evenly. No cause for alarm, Victor knows. Low glucose and iron levels are common side effects to be expected. He’ll need sugar to replace the one, an open airway to mend the other—hence the pronounced respiration. Rest, naturally, will mend all things in time. His overtaxed heart chugs along dutifully, skipping now and then as it seeks out its natural rhythm again.  


He’d almost forgotten the methodology behind human comforts, he’s been alone for so long. 

The boy's pale skin is still cold from the biting air outside. Reaching for an expensive flannel throw, he drapes it over the still body. Instinctively, the boy stirs, clutching at the fabric’s luxurious weight and sinking into its warmth. A hint of color rises in his cheeks.

Victor can't help the smile on his face whenever he looks at him.

Makka trots into the room and lies down beside him on the floor, pushing her cold nose into his hand. Her tail thumps against the floor, joining the rhythm of Yuuri’s heart. She is such a good dog. 

Tenderly he removes the spectacles perched on Yuuri’s sleeping face, folding them on the mahogany coffee table behind him. Now he waits.  


He is content to sit for hours, observing every minute sign of life as it emerges, like Spring overtaking pale Winter or a painting come to life. Pink seeps gradually beneath the pale parchment of his skin as his temperature rises. His eyelids twitch and flutter. His chest lifts and falls, lifts and falls.

Victor bites his lip. He aches to touch him but he is afraid of igniting the shock and fear he knows will come once consciousness returns. He has prepared as best he can, anyway. So he contents himself with one of the boy’s hands. He rubs it carefully between his own hard, useless cold ones, hoping to encourage the blood flow, tracing idle, swirling patterns into his palm. 

He is so, so pretty! 

Mortal prettiness makes Victor fiercely protective. The packaging has never been a vampire’s priority. It’s what’s inside that counts, after all. But Yuuri from Japan practically glows inside and out. Though he tries to resist, he fails and presses a kiss to the inside of his wrist, feeling the blood beneath churn delicately against his lips.

Oh, this _damnable_ waiting…!

Time passes, the heavy darkness shifting as night drains away to dawn. Makka snores beside him, head resting between her paws. Victor has never known such pangs of impatience as he does watching the boy breathe and silence is a very dull companion. The sun outside stretches shadows across the boy's face, giving the illusion of movement.

His breath stills, bottom lip moist and caught between his teeth. He is not quite awake yet.

When, at last, he stirs to wakefulness Victor blinks. It is terrifying to watch a vampire blink for they do it so rarely. It is the same as catching a porcelain doll blinking. He is grateful the boy is still too drowsy to notice.

“Mmmn?” Yuuri’s head moves weakly against the pillow, disoriented. His eyes squint in the dim light, feeble without his glasses. Victor dares break the silence, praying the hopeful lilt in his voice won’t send his guest into a panic.

“Feeling better?”

Several things occur at once. Yuuri instantly jolts, sitting up perpendicular only to falter and tumble off the confines of the couch. His outburst lands him on the floor with a crash, bringing the throw blanket down with him. Sweet baby Makka yelps when one of the human's clumsy feet makes painful contact with her tail. She scrambles to her feet and crawls under the coffee table to cower. Victor rises to his feet but does not approach him, unsure how to proceed. 

“ Where? Where am I?” The boy is already hyperventilating. Victor restrains himself from knocking his head against the nearest wall.

“Calm down.” Victor advises, frozen in place. The boy cannot obey for the pounding of his heart which--now properly awake--thumps hard and fast. A perfectly human reaction to unfamiliar surroundings. 

“Stay the hell back! You…” He scrambles backwards clumsily on hands and knees but he is still weak and uncoordinated. He falls down more than he flees, backing up into the wall beneath the windowsill.

“Victor.” The vampire repeats slowly. “My name is Victor.”

This information does not serve at all.

“Oh God! What is this place? Where am I?” The boy squints in the weak light of morning, straining to take in his surroundings, urgently seeking some place to hide or escape.

“My home.” Victor says as though this might help him relax but regretfully it doesn’t. The boy probably hadn’t expected to wake in some upscale St. Petersburg apartment. Perhaps it would have been better, after all, to dump him anonymously before the doors of a Soviet A&E. He is familiar with such places, he doesn’t wish to imagine Yuuri anywhere near them.  


Yuuri hugs himself tightly, trying to make his already small form even smaller. Victor agonizes. This isn’t right. Nothing will progress if all his guest can think about is how to get away as fast as possible. He can scent the tang of anxiety wafting from him as he begins to rock back and forth. 

“This is a dream. This is a dream. It has to be a dream…” 

Oh no, that won’t do! He must halt this dangerous cycle immediately!

“What do you do?” He blurts out.

Yuuri stills, shaken from his reverie. 

“D-do?”

“Surely you don’t stutter for a living.” He smirks at his own humor but a vampire’s mirth is no less unsettling than his wrath. Yuuri presses his forehead to his knees.

“I’m an athlete-- ice skater.” He mumbles.

Victor’s snow white brows rise. That explains his physique.

“And what brings you to St. Petersburg? If that’s not too personal?”

“Um, I’m trying to enter the Nationals for Europe.” 

The frantic cadence of his living heart, Victor notes, has begun to even out. Good, this charade is working. Victor plucks at his memory for more ways to put the boy at ease around him, suitably pass as non-threatening. Small talk only goes so far. 

_Act casual. Be a human! Do something banal, for the love of Hell…_

His hand wanders unconsciously inside his coat pockets, fishing about until his fingers brush against the box of cigarettes. 

He brightens. _A-ha!_

The vision of a tall, elegant vampire tapping out a smoke, placing the cylinder between his lips and lighting up must be fascinating. Yuuri’s hesitant eyes travel upward.

“Vampires smoke?” He whispers in awe. 

“Russians.” Victor corrects around the cigarette. “We’re born with a fag between our lips.” He ashes eloquently, tipping the ember into a glass ashtray on his coffee table where Makka is licking her wounds. 

“Not like they’ll kill me.” 

“Oh.” Is all Yuuri says.

Victor exhales over his shoulder, away from his guest and smiles. He proffers the box to the boy who declines with a small shake of his head. Victor shrugs, continues the conversation. 

“You swooned before I could thank you.”

“Thank me?!” 

“For dinner.” For some reason, this human brings out a wicked humor in him.

“But I-I didn’t! Th-that wasn’t…” He paws at his bandaged wrist, face flushing.

“You have nothing to be afraid of.” Victor reaffirms.

“You could have killed me!”

“You seem very much alive to me.” 

“I blacked out!” Yuuri glares.

“Not the same as murder.”

“You looked kind. I thought you wanted to be my friend.”

“I do.” And if a vampire can assert anything more passionately, he does. Victor recalls the expression on his face when he’d stepped into the holy silence of the cathedral. Lost, distant, and so very alone. Were he in his own land, wandering familiar streets, Victor could quite easily imagine him looking very much the same. 

“You seemed gentle.” He averts his eyes, ashamed at his own gullibility. “Not a—“

“If I gave you that impression, I apologize.”

“You ARE a monster, then!” Yuuri’s temper rises with unbecoming childishness.

“Do you carry on this way each time you visit a clinic?”

“THAT’S consensual!” He snaps. “What you did was more like…. ”

"...rape." Victor grimaces at the word, feeling its profanity bitter on his tongue. As primal as his appetites can be, he'd at least introduced himself!

“But I was starving…!” Victor despises the pleading lilt in his voice but he can find no other way to make him see reason. “You never said no.” He murmurs, weakly. 

“Couldn’t say no!” Yuuri shot back. “You terrified me!”

“And are you terrified now?” 

“Yes!” There’s truth in it. Even now he can see the hard palpitations fluttering the thin fabric of the boy's T-shirt. “Please, let me go! You got what you wanted, didn’t you?”

“Yes and no.”

“What else do you want?”

“More.”

The boy pales, one hand tightening protectively around his wrist. "More what?" He asks meekly.

Victor shakes his head. “Conversation.” 

"Conversation." The dumbstruck expression that follows delights him.

“I wish to know more of you. And before you flee screaming into the streets, at least nourish yourself.” He picks up the forgotten paper kiosk bag and tosses it to the floor in front of Yuuri. “You are shaking.”

Cautiously, the boy moves towards the bag, never taking his eyes off Victor. Opening the plastic sack of cookies with unsteady fingers, he crunches sullenly down on one.  
Watching him eat, Victor suddenly wants to touch him again, be certain of his health. It is one thing to hear a heart beating but the only way to affirm whether or not a human should be up and about is to feel the force of their blood as it flows through the body. Yuuri’s pulse speaks to him fluently. Tells him he’s angry, afraid, and extremely hungry.  
But there is no ruse in the world that will convince this young man that he is safe to be touched by him now. Instead, he ventures a question.

“How do you feel?” Yuuri places two fingers against his own neck, the way athletes must do, and squints down at his watch. Of course, he cannot see well enough to track.

“Better.” He uncaps the bottle of sugary grape juice and sips. A few more sips and his body notably relaxes. He looks recovered enough to stand on his own strength. Sugar is such a potent corrector.

“I’m glad.” He glides over to the sofa and pats the space beside him invitingly.

Yuuri doesn’t move. His fingers go back, touching over and over the handkerchief wound about his wrist.

“God, you actually fed from me!” He murmur.

“Delicious.” Seems to be the only polite response. He folds his hands in his lap. “Does it pain you?”

Yuuri loosens and tugs away the fabric to examine the two tiny puncture marks on the inside of his wrist. His fingers flex experimentally. 

“No.” He rubs the spot on his skin. “I don’t feel anything at all.”

“I did promise.”

The sight of Yuuri’s blush makes Victor salivate all over again.

“Sit?” He gestures again.

The world about him slurs in slow motion as Yuuri rises, finds his way to the sofa and settles himself on the cushion beside the predator who owns it.

“I tasted something else in you.” Victor steeples his fingers beneath his chin, pleased at the direction this exchange is heading. “The scent of your skin brought to my mind such serene pictures. Sulphur springs. Steam. Minerals of the earth. Won’t you tell me about them?”

“My parents run a bath house in Japan.” Yuuri explains, hands fidgeting in his lap. “Japanese people believe hot springs keep the skin healthy.”

“And the blood healthier. “ Victor agrees, tilting his head. “You’re quite clean. You’ve never even had sex before, have you?”

Yuuri stiffens briefly, taken aback by the question. He shakes his head, his poor face turns even redder and his heart thumps in shame. 

“There's no need for shame. Human sexuality doesn't surprise me anymore. I’m never shocked by anything they do or don’t do for it.”

“Well, it’s really none of your business.” Yuuri fidgets uncomfortably.

“Of course, you are right.” Victor stammers. “Tasting blood is so intimate, it’s nothing at all like a handshake, is it? Forgive me, I’ve overstepped my boundaries.”  


Yuuri’s body slumps and he sighs, leaning deeper into the sofa.

“It’s alright.” Dejected, his eyes travel upward to fix blankly on the ceiling. “Nothing interesting ever happens to me.” 

“Until me.”

A nod.

“I do like you.” Victor confesses, hoping to lift his spirits. “I find you very…”

“…delicious.” Yuuri repeats bitterly.

“Well, that too.” Victor agrees in earnest. “Tempting, in fact, but you are more than worth my excitement! Please believe me, I’ve had centuries to compare."

How can he possibly relate to this little human what two thousand years of the same thing feels like? Sounds like? Tastes like? Fucks like? His thoughts do not form now as easily as they ought, the proper words rebelling against his tongue. The beat of Yuuri's agitated heart, all the while, is distracting as ever. Victor curses softly and tries again to explain Yuuri to himself.

"What I mean to say is--I wonder why you think yourself unremarkable, why you settle so readily for mediocrity." Yuuri receives this assessment without a flinch. However, his heart picks up. A nerve has been struck. Victor licks his lips, encouraged. “I have known others like you--those who wander their entire lives blind to their own greatness."

Yuuri's eyes are wet, mouth working uncomfortably. "Greatness?" He huffs as though that word does not fit, like an awkwardly stitched waistcoat or a dirty sock.

"I'm not going to demand you cooperate… but this will go a lot more smoothly if you do. Understand?"

The boy nods again. Somewhere in this strange conversation, his reluctance has been forgotten.

"Good." Victor reaches over, encouraged by sin again. He finds himself drawn to the top of Yuuri’s head and touches his hair. As hard, icy fingertips connect with Yuuri’s scalp, the boy shudders. Black strands smooth as pure water slip through his fingers. "I want you to relax. I can feel your heart beating a mile-a-minute."

Yuuri’s eyes flutter closed, head tilted back. Victor’s eyes scan the length of his pale throat, drawn to the pulsing artery so visible beneath taut skin. He is utterly undone by him. Victor leans closer, whispers into his neck.

"Are you ready, my Yuuri?”

Yuuri’s lashes flutter against his cheek, lost again in what he still thinks is a dream. Something happening to another Yuuri, a distant doppleganger detached from himself. Such things do not happen to real people, unimportant and uninteresting people like him. His response, when it comes, is tiny.

“No.”

A second later he gasps when the fangs sink swiftly down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With Halloween just around the corner, I couldn't leave this chapter hanging. It's fun to watch a vampire fumble and fall hopelessly in love. Yuuri may have just found himself a friend for life.


	3. Two a Party, Three a crowd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri meets the family.

He may have overstepped himself this time.

Victor truly berates himself. He’s behaved like an utter scourge! A mindless, insatiable, ungoverned beast!

Such things hardly matter when he’s not trying so desperately hard to win his victim’s trust. The day had been moving along most admirably and then he’d blown it all on the thrill of a tantalizing pulse. 

Such immortal patience! Such dusty, vestigial mannerisms he’d dragged from the vaults to make himself less predatory! By all rights he deserved, at minimum, a slap to the face for his crudeness! But Yuuri from Japan just isn’t that type of boy, even if he weren’t reeling from lack of hemoglobin.  
Yuuri had barely recovered when he’d taken the next hit. It had been worth every drop, though. Even Yuuri himself seemed to have built up some resistance, having not fainted dead away at the first pull.

Victor considers the fine-boned body resting in his arms. 

Yuuri of Japan is small in stature but that is where his smallness ends. He’s been reared not to shine, not to sparkle, not to let his instinctual self-tarnish fade enough to reveal the barest trace of glow. Humility is regarded a virtue where he comes from.

But he does glow. And, bless him, he’s stumbled right into Victor’s waiting lap.

“You feel so warm now.” Yuuri comments, his words against Victor’s chest slurring. His fingers graze over Victor’s bare forearms in wonder.

“Yes.” Victor hums his appreciation. He is full and sated while Yuuri’s body shivers. “You lend me your vitality.”

Yuuri somehow has enough color left in him to blush.

He cannot feel too regretful for long. His nature forbids it. Let him be dragged before the counsel once more. Let him be shamed and reviled. Let his own kind spit at him, disown him and chastise him for his doings tonight. Yes, he had taken from the same victim. Yes, in his own home. Yes, he would do it again.

The Vampire Nikiforov does what he pleases when he pleases and the sooner the world recognizes this, the easier it will keep turning.

Yuuri’s eyes close but he still clings to the lapels of Victor’s expensive blazer like a lifeline. His heartbeat is uneven, attempting once more to syncopate as it recovers. He’s in no danger but his physiology is starting to unravel at the seams. He must rest again and take nourishment. Victor considers the pitiful contents of his kitchen. He has nothing on hand for guests. Procuring food for Yuuri will mean abandoning him again. He must wait until the boy is asleep. He will be quite safe. Makkachin is a steadfast companion and she has already forgiven Yuuri his trespasses.

Now if only Yuuri will forgive his.

“No one has ever been this close, have they my Yuuri?” Victor cradles him close, letting him relax against his body.

Yuuri shakes his head. He is half-conscious already. Victor rests a warm hand against his chest, feeling the trembling beats of his heart. 

“No one has touched you before?” He continues, in awe. “Tasted you?” _Savored you?_

A sorrowful crease forms on Yuuri’s brow. Victor dips his head to kiss it away. Wonders never cease with Yuuri.

“Pity.”  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Yuuri wakes to find himself alone.

He is laid out on the sofa and the room is dark. The last thing he remembers is being draped against the hardness of Victor’s chest, feeling distant and feather-light.

He feels very hungry, cold and shaky.

Blindly, he reaches for his glasses, folded conveniently close on the coffee table. His eyes blink to the side, catching on the front door. It is open. His breath stops.

Can he leave?

Makka, the poodle, whines as he sits up. Immediately she trots over to investigate him, pushing her cold nose with concern into his fumbling hands.

“Shhh. Good girl.” Yuuri shushes her, scrubbing her once on her soft head to appease her. The dog, at least, is someone he understands.

Somehow he summons enough strength to heave his cement block legs over the side of the sofa, pausing as his circulation adjusts. Makkachin whines again, as if to say: “Where are you going?”

His heartbeat flutters inside his chest, he can feel its nervous dance. The dizziness abates as he takes in slow breaths. Somehow he makes it to his feet and staggers for the door. He finds his jacket neatly folded on a hook. He pulls it down, hand trembling on the door knob. There is no corridor, this is a private solitary lodging on a quiet cobbled street. As he glances outside, he notes the night outside is very dark, very still and very empty.

He desperately prays it stays that way.

 _Don’t bark. Don’t bark. Don’t bark._ He silently pleads at the dog. Makka’s tail thumps curiously against the floor but she only watches him.

The knob turns easily and the door clicks open. Steeling himself, he steps out into the frigid night air and shuts the door behind him.

He has no idea where he is.

He wracks his sluggish brain, trying to recall the map he’d studied. Suddenly, he remembers his phone tucked safely in his jeans pocket. He nearly sobs with relief when the flat screen flickers to life with just enough battery left to activate GPS. He eagerly taps into the app, waiting as it tells him how to get far away from here.  
Something glistens in a shrouded alley way. He pauses, cocks his head to the side. Two slivers of what must be moonlight glimmer in the shadows created by two opposing buildings across the street. The GPS voice is instructing him to cross over anyway so he obeys, hoping to find a Metro station close by. 

“Um…” He clears his throat, feeling foolish. “Hello?”

The strange glare continues to flicker, entrancing him and pulling him forward. The effect is not unlike the glow of a cat’s eye. Perhaps it is just a lost stray? Yuuri licks his lips nervously.

Slowly, he lowers his phone. His feet remain frozen in place, peering into the dark path created by the alley.

“Hello?” His breath clouds in the still, frozen air. His voice is faintly hopeful. “Victor?”

All thoughts cease when Yuuri is suddenly jerked into the alleyway by a shadowy hand. 

Yuuri has never been so scared in his life. Piss in his pants, cry for his mother terrified. 

“Fuck.” 

The body holding his in check is smaller than Victor’s, wiry and slim but strong as iron. The skinny teen’s face is hidden by the black hoodie drawn up over his head. Yuuri twists desperately against the brick wall he is held against but to no avail.

Sharp pain explodes as two needle-like teeth clamp down hard into the juncture between his neck and shoulder. 

“AH!!” His shout of pain is smothered by a gloved hand pressed over his nose and mouth. He is terrified. He’ll suffocate like this! His heart is on overdrive, all he can hear is the sound of its struggle.

Knees quaking, tears building, Yuuri tries to peer down at the hunched over form currently latched to his neck.

”W-what?” He blubbers, praying this crazy punk will release him. The punk doesn’t feed long. He lifts his head, retracting his bloody fangs from just above Yuuri's collar bone to stare at his victim in distaste. A flash of golden hair escapes the confine of his hood, blowing messily into the flashing green of his eyes.

Yuuri's lips move in silent prayer. His breath stops when he hears the punk address him in a scathing tone.

“You drink detox drinks, don't you?” 

“I care about my health!” Yuuri squeaks, taken aback. His hand rushes up to staunch the warm flow of blood freshly leaking from his neck. He feels the stickiness on his fingers.

“Fuck my life.” The kid mutters.

“Please, just let me go - “ Yuuri's whimpers are cut off by a fist slamming against the brick alley wall beside his head. 

“Time for lights out,” the kid growls.

“No! No pl—“ The back of his skull explodes painfully and then there is nothing but silence.  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
He is not sure where he is.

He wakes again to angry voices. Victor. His deep baritone is livid. The punk is also there, hands shoved within the depths of his jacket pockets. They are snarling, two pale wraiths staring one another down.

“Who the fuck cares if…”

“No right to—“

“The council….”

“Fuck the council!”

“Bet you have!”

Weakly, Yuuri assesses himself as his vision returns. Why can’t he move? He is lying on his side, on the floor. Back in Victor’s house. His breath stops when he realizes his hands are tied behind his back.

“Oh, no – Please!” Yuuri begins to beg automatically, struggling against his restraints. Noticing his return to consciousness, the pale-faced teen is at his side first. Yuuri cringes. Instantly, he feels a hand comb through his tousled hair. 

“You're not starting this again, are you?” The question isn’t directed at him but at Victor.

“Don’t touch him, Yura.” Yura must be the kid’s name. From the look of him, he is alarmingly young. Too young to be so vicious. Yuuri's eyes dance around the room, searching for any escape, fighting the bonds around his wrist. 

“You're insane! Please, let me go!” He twists his wrists behind him but they stay locked together. The kid drops to his level on the floor and pulls his head up to meet his face.

“Not insane.” He corrects. “Ravenous.”

Eyes bugging, ready to pop out of their very sockets, Yuuri flails against the floor. “You abducted me in an alley and took my blood! You're both fucking insane!” 

Victor’s gaze darkens. “Yuuri. I apologize for this punk!” 

“Pot meet kettle.” The teen spits at him over his shoulder but his grip never loosens. He swings his focus back to Yuuri.

“Fucking detox drinks.” The kid tightens his fist in Yuuri’s hair, making him wince. The hoodie comes down to reveal an incredibly youthful face. His hair is long and made of fine spun gold, jewel-toned eyes sharp and merciless. He certainly doesn’t appear like the monster he is. Like Victor he is deathly pale, high delicate cheekbones lending an ethereal grace to his youthful features.

“So your name is Yuuri?” The punk asks with a rough accent, his gaze shines down on Yuuri as he leans in closer. “Mine too.” A hint of a smile ghosts across his lips. He releases his grip, instead running his fingers through Yuuri’s hair affectionately as though he were a pet.

“Yes,” he whispers, not calmed in any way by the kid’s smile. 

Patting his chest, the teen repeats his name, “Yuuri. Simple.” He nods to himself. “Well, Yuuri, let’s call me Yura.” 

Yuuri nods politely though nothing in the kid’s mannerisms puts him at ease. He swallows hard. “Are you going to kill me?” 

Yura throws his head back in glee. “You – He – Victor, did you just …?” Peals of laughter ring from the boy as he doubles over. His laughter is even more terrifying than his smile.

Victor watches with a stony gaze. 

Wiping a few stray tears from his eyes, Yura straightens back up. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Oh, Yuuri, you're a keeper!” 

“No.” Victor says sharply.

Yura glares at the stoic man. “You’ve no claim on him and I’m hungry,” he points out. 

“Find your own meat.” Victor commands, one finger pointed at Yuuri. “This boy is mine.”

“By what command?”

“The one I’m not going to give again.” Victor growls impatiently. 

Yuuri watches the exchange closely, catching on that his life might just depend on the winner of this argument. He can't keep his focus for long, sweat dripping down his brow and into his eyes. He blinks furiously, trying to rid himself of his nervous sweating habit. He is nothing more than a prize to be shared between monsters, trussed up on the floor of this flat.

“So then, I'll go get you some food.” Victor insists. “But you may not terrorize my guest!”

“Is that what you’re calling them now?” Yura snarls back. His fists bang repeatedly against his sides as though he’s about to leap.

“We can't risk another missing person. You know that.” Victor snaps.

“Do I look like I want to clean up your messes, old man?” Yura growls. “I’m starving!”

“Not my problem.”

“I’m about to make it your problem.”

“You dare—“

Before Yuuri realizes what's going on, Yura reaches behind him to clamp a cold hand around his wrist. Easily, he breaks the rope binding Yuuri’s wrists together. Yuuri balks. The kid looks no older than sixteen but he has amazing strength.

“Step away, brat!” Victor roars. Yura, however, ignores him. He’s petulant and just like Victor, it is clear that he doesn’t take to being ordered. Instead, he lifts Yuuri's left hand to his mouth and takes a deep inhale. Victor watches with barely concealed rage as Yura opens his mouth to bare his sharp fangs. He pauses, meeting Victor’s glare.

“Don’t.” Victor grits out. Yura, however, does just the opposite.

“No! Stop!” Yuuri snaps into frantic action, pulling away with all his strength, but despite his small figure, the boy is able to keep him in check. 

“Calm down,” Yura coos, gently trailing the points of his canines along the bulging veins in Yuuri's wrist. Yuuri quivers in fear. “I just need a taste.”

Heart racing at a dangerous speed, Yuuri figures he'll keel over pretty soon just from the stress. When Yura finally pierces his skin, he lets out a shout. 

Victor shoots forward and clamps a hand around Yuuri's mouth. “Enough, Yura!” he berates, muffling Yuuri's terrified screams. “Stop it!”

Eyes glistening with something darker than lust, Yura looks up at Victor, running his tongue slowly over his blood soaked teeth. Yuuri takes one look at his own blood being savored, and his vision goes white. Before he can collapse back to the floor, Victor yanks him away, holding his limp body protectively to his chest. 

“Happy?” He seethes.

Yura leans back with a shit-faced smile and nods. He wipes the last traces of blood from his mouth and pats his belly, appeased.

“Just kill me. Please.” Yuuri whimpers, face buried in Victor’s shoulder. He is trembling, fighting to stay conscious. Tears run down his cheeks.

“We don't eat people,” Victor comments softly, gaze trained on the floor. 

“I feel sick.” Yuuri croaks.

“All those detox drinks.” The kid sneers. Victor’s voice is eerily calm.

“There are times, Yura, when I wonder why I turned you instead of abandoning another corpse in that orphanage.”

Yura bristles at these words but responds with a callous shrug.

To Yuuri, Victor’s voice is soft, apologetic. “Come, Yuuri. I will take you home.”

“May I….may I have some food first?” Yuuri asks, throat dry as sandpaper. “You’ve both eaten but I feel like I’m about to pass out.”

Victor slides his thumb over Yuuri’s pulse, hissing at its uneven pace. If it weren’t for the prime condition of his athlete’s body, he’d be in hospital now. Already it seems he would benefit from a transfusion. Victor appears to be weighing his options. Yuuri’s lost so much blood and been gone for too long. His people, for surely he did not come to St. Petersburg alone, will be searching for him.

“Of course,” he guides him to the sofa and sets him down, propping him over the arm to rest. “I will fix something for you in the kitchen.”

To Yura his words are plain: “Get out.”

Studying him half-heartedly, Yuuri can find nothing but confusion in this man – vampire? Yura huffs and pushes himself off the floor, heading for the door. His green eyes never leave Yuuri. Yuuri only starts breathing again when the door snaps shut.

Moments later, Victor re-emerges with a steaming bowl. Soup, probably. Something to replace the fluids and salt robbed from him.

Yuuri reaches forward and takes the bowl with shaking hands. Victor watches him devour the entirety of it in silence, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped, from where he is perched on the edge of a chase lounge chair. The food seems to help, strengthening and warming him from within. When he finishes, Yuuri sets the bowl back on the coffee table. His eyes meet Victor's expectantly. 

Victor blinks as if shaking himself from a daze. “Finished?” 

Yuuri nods, then eyes the plastered wall. There are two rusty brown stains washed on it. He’d failed to notice them earlier. He wonders briefly if it's from his own blood, or some unknown stranger who was here before him.

“I can explain - “ Just as Victor begins, a crash of noise bursts from the front of the house. 

Instantly, Victor is on his feet. “Stay here,” he orders sharply before disappearing out the door. 

Yuuri listens to the commotion, still fighting his exhaustion. There are multiple voices swelling into one cacophonous mess, Victor's the only steady baritone standing out among them. 

The voices start to come closer. Unsure what to do, Yuuri lifts himself partially up from the sofa cushion, head craning to see what is going on.

“We know, Victor!” Cries a man with short-cropped, curly bleach blond locks. 

“You can't fool us!” Joins another, shorter man, waving a bottle of liquor in the air. 

Yuuri spots a familiar face as Yura comes out of the sidelines to step up to Victor, who seems to be positioned in front of the hallway to prevent them from progressing further past his threshold. The curly-headed one smiles coyly, tracing a long finger along Victor’s arm. 

“We're just looking out for you,” he purrs, “No use being bonded to someone who isn't one of us.” 

“I'm not bonded,” Victor sneers, irritation hidden well. 

“Yura told us, and besides, he wouldn't be alive right now if you weren't,” the blond one retorts. 

“Christoph is right,” the shorter one with the bottle pipes in. 

Before Victor can argue the point any further, Christoph’s bright gaze lands on Yuuri. A dangerous smirk plays at his lips as they lock eyes. Yuuri's heart jumps in his throat. With inhuman speed, he darts past Victor to stand beside Yuuri.

Victor curses aloud, one hand outstretched to stop him.

“Chris--!” He starts.

“Well, aren't you pretty,” Christoph remarks, taking hold of Yuuri's chin to examine his features closer. “I can see why Victor chose you.”

Fear grips Yuuri at the throat once again. A strangled noise escapes his lips as Christoph leans forward to smell just above Yuuri's pulsing carotid artery. 

“Chris,” Victor warns, face tight as he measures how to turn this tense situation. 

“Why is your heart beating so wildly?” Christoph questions, pressing his hand across Yuuri's chest, fingers splayed as if clutching at Yuuri's living heart. “If I bite you now, you'll lose too much blood to survive the turning.”

Yuuri tries to pull away. “Leave me alone! Please!”

“Oh, I couldn’t if I tried.” Chris chuckles darkly.

With incredible strength, Christoph grabs his shoulders and pins him against the wall. Yuuri struggles, straining against his hold. “Where are you going?” He asks gently.

“Christoph!” Victor snarls a warning. 

“JJ, hold him back,” Christoph snaps, sensing Victor reaching the peak of his patience. 

The shorter one—JJ-- moves obediently. Yura lingers in the background to observe, bottom lip caught up between his teeth in wicked anticipation.

“V-Victor,” Yuuri gasps, terrified of this creature and his breath, reeking of booze. 

Christoph clamps his hand over Yuuri's mouth. “Leave lover boy out of this, little one. Now, prepare to cross over. Say a prayer.” He leans in closer when all Yuuri can manage is a stifled sob. “I can’t hear you.” He whispers.

Victor struggles against the thick pair of arms restraining him. He kicks the shorter one off of him and into Yura, both falling in a heap from the collision. Christoph's fangs gleam as they near the crook of Yuuri's pulsing neck, tongue flicking over them quickly. Hot tears begin to slide fast down Yuuri's cheeks.

He never asked for any of this.

Just as Christoph's fangs graze his skin, Victor violently wrenches the vampire away. He throws him against the opposite wall with force enough to leave a crack in the plaster. 

“Get out! All of you!” Victor growls, fangs bared. “There’s the fucking door!”

“Fool! You can’t protect him!” Christoph laughs even as he is pinned.

“I’m getting tired of underlings telling me what I can and cannot do with MY bonded!”

“HA! I knew it!” Yura quips, picking himself off the floor.

“The council will hear of this.” Christoph promises. His piercing gaze makes Yuuri tremble.

“Let them.” Victor matches his gaze. “Now get out before something truly dreadful happens.”

Yura rushes outside before another word can be spoken, but the shorter one has to scurry to Christoph's side to help pull him out of the apartment, still dazed from being thrown. Victor follows them, slamming the door shut. It takes him a moment to secure all of his locks, but when he turns back, Yuuri is a hollow wreck on the floor. 

His fangs retract back into his gums quickly. “Yuuri.” 

Victor falls to the floor beside him, eager to comfort, but Yuuri pushes himself violently away. 

“Yuuri, I - “ 

“Stay away from me.” A quiver of a voice speaks from where Yuuri has curled in on himself , face pressed against his thighs. His entire body quakes with fear.

“I am sorry. Please forgive--" 

Yuuri makes no move to say anything to him, so Victor stands up and retreats back to his study. It is the right thing to do for this dear human now understands he’s been thrust into a contract not of his own making. Victor must retreat, must let his anguish settle. Must let his heart slow down.

Makka emerges from her hiding place to paw timidly at Yuuri’s trembling form. She nudges him with her warm, soft body hopefully. With a cry of despair, Yuuri flings his arms around her neck, pressing his face into her ruff.

Forcing his breathing to come out in normal puffs of air, Yuuri calms himself from the brink of hyperventilation. The dog’s eager panting echoes his fearful ones. 

He doesn't know how long he stays on this floor, clutching to Makka – but as his heart stutters and his breathing calms, a strange reality begins to form in his mind. This room is now his room. He is trapped in this place and needs something to call his own. _Bonded._ His mind gropes around the word, desperate for answers. What does it mean? How does it define him now? 

He spends a great while in this pensive loop before finally regaining the strength to stand. The parlor is not where he wishes to stay. The heavy smell of his own sweat and blood lingers here. He wants to get away from it. The remainder of the flat is spacious. So long as he avoids the door Victor has vanished behind, he thinks he should be safe. An adjoining narrow corridor leads down a separate path, lined by two wooden doors. He pushes one open to discover a neatly made bed and armoire. Yuuri blinks. This can’t belong to Victor. 

The bed, he decides, is his best friend at the moment. 

He moves toward it woodenly, a nagging thought reminding him that this is not his property. He must not be so forward. He should be polite and request permission from his host.

But has anyone remembered “please” or “thank you” this night?

His wrist and throat still sting from the blonde teenager’s attentions. Though the bleeding has stopped, he hopes Victor can smell him from behind the heavy wooden door, can still appreciate the life pumping fast through every chamber. He hopes he’ll appreciate tonight what he’ll never be allowed to approach again. It is this hateful thought that persuades him to abandon convention and forget his upbringing. Not even bothering to remove his day clothes, he falls into the mattress.

He doesn't sleep the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri just can't win at life, can he? That doesn't mean he stops trying.


	4. Side Effects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri begins to feel the effects of Victor's affections.

Victor listens and waits.

The cold night beyond the walls spreads out like a canvas soon pocked with stars. Victor appreciates the ways of the natural world even if he finds himself just outside of it. 

This venture has all turned out horridly wrong in that it has slipped past his control. He does not like that at all.

Save for the familiar stirrings of his beloved Makkachin, the absence of presence from Yuuri is disquieting. Victor’s ears strain for the human’s pulse to settle into the metronome pattern of exhaustion; the boy must succumb to it sooner or later. Yuuri is a sensible soul whatever circumstance he is placed in. But the boy’s heart does not settle or shift. It is a frightened heartbeat, sick with panic.

He berates himself endlessly, brooding just outside the door like a jaded lover. 

The human’s body sprawls out comfortably enough on the prepared bed but his eyes stay alert. The moment they begin to droop with exhaustion an involuntary surge of adrenaline forces them back open. His body quivers continuously like an animal caught in a snare.

His uncivil introduction of his brethren had been premature and terrifying. Yura is always in a snit these days and Christophe is insufferable when he degrades himself to mortal vices. Yuuri’s heart continues to pound, demanding answers, ready to defend himself or flee.

He must tread carefully…oh, so carefully.

Victor makes himself scarce in his own home. He never meant to put Yuuri in harm’s way. Harm had tragically happened upon him, like the living magnet he is. He has a lot of explaining and for once in many a moon, his mind is too tired to organize. First, he’ll make tea, he decides. That should normalize things. Isn't that what most troubled humans do?

Tea is a magical brew and the cause of many a Mongol skirmish in his infancy. Perhaps it will bring him back to himself? He ought to have a tin of it lying about the cupboards, gathering dust somewhere.

He can hardly wait for the water to boil.

The agitated thumping picks up tempo when he knocks politely on the door, balancing the pot and two cups on a tray.

“May I?”

Only the rapid heartbeat answers. 

The boy is sitting up against the mahgony headboard, knees drawn up to his chest. His eyes are bloodshot. Had he been weeping?

“I’ve made tea.” He says uselessly. 

Yuuri looks like hell on earth. Drawn and pale, a sheen of fear-induced sweat sour on his skin. Bloodshot eyes blink once. Encouraged, Victor lifts up one steaming mug and places it in Yuuri’s hands.

“Have some.” He invites, warmly as a vampire can possibly attempt. Curls of fragrant steam rise from the cup. Yuuri’s nostrils twitch but he does not move.

“I know I haven’t much right to your forgiveness, Yuuri.” Victor lowers his eyes to his lap.

A nod is better than nothing and more than he deserves. Victor speaks on, hopefully.

“I must apologize for the actions of my…cohorts. Yura is a troubled youth and Christophe is a brute no matter what time of day. Vampires can be a hideously officious lot. It is perfectly natural that you are frightened and confused.”

“Excuses won’t change this.” Yuuri whispers, clutching tight to his own wrist where Yura had savagely taken from him. His pulse is rapid now, perhaps angry, and Victor prays it is not all directed at him.

“Are you hurt?” Victor asks in all sincerity.

A shake of the head. Good. They can both come to terms on that definition though the violation will linger longer than the physical scar.

“Do you feel ill?”

“I’ve been dizzy since we met, obviously.” He admits, shuddering as he rubs his forearms. “But now I feel just cold. Is there an extra blanket?” 

Victor rushes back to the sofa to snatch up the heavy flannel he’d used to cover Yuuri the previous night. The boy clutches tight to it, clinging to its softness as it absorbs his scant body heat. There are rationales for these symptoms, Victor reasons. The boy has neither eaten nor slept nearly adequately these past two hellish days. He’s exhausted and his sugar has been depleted. The bond will be effecting him as well, no doubt. Victor peers at him through the fan of his silver lashes.

Yuuri’s brown eyes are glassy, even feverish if Victor were honest. He’s been fed on too much and the state of Yura’s fangs are atrocious--the careless child barely bothering to clean them. Yuuri cannot remain here, not in this condition. He will need assistance soon and from his own kind.

“Have there been others?” Yuuri asks, despondently. 

“In this bed? Countless.” Victor smirks.

“They said we…you and I…that we were bonded.” The word seems too heavy for him and indeed it is. He is too exhausted and confused for this discussion.

Makka trots in at that moment, whining to be let out and fed. Victor knows he isn’t showing it, but the human on his bed wants very much the same. He reaches out a hand to soothe Makka and beg her patience as she practically jumps into his lap. He is encouraged when the boy looks down, blinking at the cup of tea in his hand as though noticing it for the first time. He lowers his head and takes a cautious sip.

“Good?” Victor smiles.

Yuuri only nods. The cadence of his heart changes tempo.

“Finish it. I’ll return and then we shall find your home.” He rises to let Makka outside.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Yuuri’s people are overjoyed to see him. A dark skinned creature named Phichit with too-round eyes and a high-pitched, playful voice like an army of festival bells going off at once clings to his neck and shouts, nearly toppling his poor human over in his excitement.

“Oh Yuuri! We’ve been so worried!” He cries, near out of breath. “When you didn’t answer your phone, Celestino was about to contact the police!”

“I’m fine, Phichit. I’m so sorry I didn’t call.” Yuuri says shakily, trembling in the doorway outside the youth hostel. The chill air bites at his neck through the open door and he shivers violently despite the wind block of Victor’s body standing tall and solid behind him.

“It is I who should be making the apologies.” Victor sweeps in behind them, practically pushing Yuuri into the warmth of indoors. It won’t do to have Yuuri freeze to death while this human puppy barks around him. “I am the scoundrel who spirited him off.”

His tongue curls around the words. Victor dislikes apologizing in general but his mannerisms and charms have their effect as desired. Phichit stares at him in awe.

“This is my friend, Victor Nikiforov. He lives in St. Petersburg.” Yuuri explains. The brown rabbit boy finally takes note of Victor’s chilly presence and clasps his hands around his.

“Oh! It’s so wonderful to meet a friend of Yuuri! I didn’t know he knew anyone in St. Petersburg!” Phichit teases. “And you said this was your first time here!”

“I am a very old friend.” It’s not a complete lie.

The man child called Phichit cannot seem to take control of his feet, as he skips with relief, down the corridor. The absurd display has a calming effect on Yuuri who smiles at the overbearing affection. Phichit’s skin smells faintly of cinnamon or some other exotic spice. Victor draws immediate conclusions about his diet.

“I’m just glad you’re safe!” Phichit hugs him once more but pauses, a small frown on his tanned face. “Eh? Yuuri kun, are you alright? You’re shaking!”

“I must have caught a cold.” Yuuri says in a small voice though this is far from truth.

“Oh no!” Phichit hurries him down the hall and into their shared dormitory, a small but neat dwelling, sparsely furnished. Phichit pulls open a small wooden cabinet and begins rummaging. “Celestino will be livid! You can’t be ill, the practice schedule starts Monday!”

“Please don’t tell Celestino?” Yuuri slumps into his desk chair , cradling his head in his hands. “I should have been more careful.”

“Well, you seem to be in capable hands.” Victor comments lightly from the doorframe, waiting to be invited in as Phichit flutters about. A curious instrument is tucked down the collar of Yuuri’s sweater, obviously meant to record his body’s temperature. The world has done away with the mercury glass sticks of his youth, it seems.

“I’m going to get some aspirin and then you’re going straight to bed.” Phichit firmly..

Yuuri can only nod. Victor is grateful when Phichit departs, his pulse trills at the pace of a hummingbird’s, deafening and distracting. 

“Come in.” Yuuri whispers. Victor ventures inside one foot edging over the threshold and onto the carpet. He takes another step until he is finally close enough to hear Yuuri’s pulse again. It is shallow and weak, but fast-- a symptom. Victor approaches him, noticing when the cheerful plants and flowers decorating the bare space recoil at his presence. He is about to speak when the device beneath Yuuri’s arm chirps in a frantic, irksome way. Yuuri reaches up beneath his sweater and pulls the instrument out. 

“Just a slight temperature.” He sighs, studying the number. “But why? I was feeling alright before.”

Victor answers, lightly stroking the petals of a soured carnation. “Your body has been through considerable stress. Naturally, it will fight.” He sniffs ruefully. “Yura’s fangs are not the most sanctified in the world, besides.”

Yuuri looks truly sick.

Phichit returns with an older man in tow. Yuuri’s coach, he assumes, from the fatherlike way in which he presses a hand to Yuuri’s forehead and scolds him. Phichit fusses over him endlessly as he forces pills into his hand and water down his throat. 

Victor somehow makes his own introductions, noting with interest that neither human reacts to his cold handshake or the tiny pinpricks in Yuuri’s wrist. 

“I took the liberty of cutting our tour of the city short when it became clear he was feeling under the weather. Nothing to be concerned about.” Victor explains to the two devoted humans. Celestino’s relief is palpable. 

“Yuuri’s one of my best students, I was near frantic when he didn’t show for dinner last night.”

“Ah, yes. Well, he dined at my flat the previous evening.” Victor smiles while Yuuri shudders.

“Um, I’m feeling really tired. I’d like to go to bed now?” The boy begs. His eyes seem barely able to stay open and he is wobbly on his feet.

“You do look sort of pale.” Phichit agrees, letting Yuuri lean against him as he makes the short walk to his bed. Victor can hear Yuuri’s heart pumping hard in contrast to the nervous flutter of Phichit. With some rest and proper food, he’d regain his strength. Perhaps then, Victor reasoned, he’d be better able to handle the concept of a bond.

Victor takes a quiet seat at Yuuri’s bedside. “I’ll look after him.” Yuuri cannot object as he is already asleep. Phichit, wisely, withdraws taking his racket with him.

Victor watches Yuuri sleep and ponders where he should begin.

Bonds are not simple to explain in human terms. He’s forgotten many of the formalities much to the ire of the Council. His brain feels full and tight with anxiety. He does not want Yuuri to be afraid of him but he is what he is. 

Morning comes in a wash of pale winter sunlight. Yuuri is still groggy and alarmingly pale, however, and when Phichit drags in the company medic to look him over, he finds an elevated temperature, low blood pressure and signs of anemia. He is ordered on medical leave, assigned a special diet and barred from the ice until notice. Victor completely agrees. His heart is working too hard to meet its daily demands; it’s not yet ready to handle athletic exertions. Victor insists on staying with him. 

“I won’t be fit for trials at this rate.” Yuuri groans from his bed. “What have you done to me?”

Victor fixes him with a steady gaze, calm and thoughtful. “Well, the bond has certainly had a remarkable effect on your blood.”

“I take it you can smell it?”

“Indeed I can. Though, more to the point, I can see it.”

Another blink, though this time one of confusion. “See it?”

“Yes. I had wondered if you were able to perceive it yourself, though perhaps it is beyond your limits. Your blood appears to me to have irradiant properties. It shows quite starkly through your skin.”

Yuuri stares at him. “Well, that explains the look I got when I walked into the church.”

“I must admit, it took me quite by surprise.” Victor kneels in front of him then reaches for Yuuri’s hands, turning them palm-upwards before pushing back his sleeves to expose his wrists. “The glow is beyond the spectrum a normal human can perceive. To me, it is quite vivid.”

Yuuri squints and stares down at his own wrists, where the skin is thin and veins close to the surface. Victor is not surprised at all that he cannot see a thing. He hangs his head, shoulders slumping in exhaustion. Victor wonders how long it’s been since he truly felt well. “How long until this whatever wears off?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you. The effects of the bond are as unfamiliar to me as they are to you. Though, with some observation I might know more.”  
Yuuri draws a breath then looks up at him. “Observation?”

“There may well be other effects this unknown bond is having on your body. You seem to be quite tired.”

Yuuri struggles to find the words. “Something…like pain beneath my skin. I feel hot and cold. My head is full of these weird zaps. I can’t rest.”

“If I learn more, perhaps I could find a way to help.”

It makes sense. The boy heaves a sigh and rubs at his eyes again. “Alright. Do it.”

Victor prays his lack of reluctance to be an indication of trust.

He leans back as Victor stands to bring over a chair to sit beside him. “Remove your shirt and lie down, Yuuri, if you would. Observing the blood flow through your vital organs will be most informative.”

Yuuri does as asked, breathing deeply and lying back as Victor draws the chair closer and takes a seat beside him. The room is still dark, but between the faint white flashes invading his vision with every beat of Yuuri’s heart, he can see well enough.

For what feels like an age, Victor doesn’t move. He simply sits, eyes panning over Yuuri’s body long enough that the human starts to grow uncomfortable. The flashing intervals between beats grow uneven and rapid, like a siren. Yuuri swallows, stares in the general direction of the vampire’s motionless silhouette. 

“I must look like a fountain of wine to you right now.”

There’s a pause, then Victor lifts his head. “That isn’t at all the thought that crossed my mind.”

“No?”

“Actually, I was contemplating how incredibly beautiful it is.”

The statement seems to catch Yuuri off guard. Heat rushes to his face as he lies there creating two dense pockets of light. He is exposed, his very blood visible to the vampire, as he’s being studied. “Beautiful, huh?” He sounds dubious.

“Yes. You should see yourself, Yuuri. Your body is remarkable. I can see the blood entering each chamber of your heart as it beats; watch it pump life throughout your body with such power and efficiency. The way your blood vessels are structured is quite the marvel.”

There’s something in his voice that Victor can only describe as quiet awe, stirring the curiosity in his human. Yuuri glances down at his own chest. Perhaps he thinks he, too, can see the faint glow beneath his sternum. “So, uh, apart from the glowing, everything working as it should?”

Only then does Victor move, as if finally remembering what he’s meant to be doing. “Your liver is certainly glowing quite brightly,” he remarks, placing a hand over the organ. “Though I suspect that is largely due to it working to cleanse your blood of Yura’s negligence. Your heart, too, is highly luminous, though I would be concerned if it weren’t.”

A hand comes to rest on his scalp, but there’s no complaint from the boy as Victor gently tilts his head, watching the blood. “I see no abnormalities in your brain. Indeed, other than a slight shift in your blood’s hemoglobin, I can detect no pathologies.”

Sighing, Yuuri cracks his eyes open again. “Great. So how do I reverse it?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say. I expect this side effect will eventually wear off. In the meantime, I would recommend sleep.”

Another groan escapes the boy’s throat. “That’s just it, I can’t sleep.”

“Then I shall fetch you something,” Victor says, rising from the chair. 

Yuuri grunts. “Alright,” he mutters. “Just so long as I wake up again.”

Victor chuckles. “I think you needn’t worry, Yuuri. Your body is a remarkable organism. It will adapt and settle down soon enough.”

“I was hoping for emphasis on the ‘soon’,” Yuuri says, shutting his eyes, then feels Victor’ hand on his shoulder. He cracks them open again just a fraction to see Victor holding a small cup under his nose. 

“Take this for the pain,” the vampire says. 

Yuuri does and lies back, his head sinking onto the bundled pillow. The medicine is swiftly effective, Victor notes, as he watches the blood regulate, the flashes of light growing calmer. Yuuri is already halfway back to his rest before he notices Victor pulling up a cushion to sit beside him. 

“You’re going to stay there the whole time?” he asks, surprised.

“I promised to keep an eye on you, Yuuri. I can do that best from your bedside.”

Yuuri huffs. “Long time for you to just have to sit there. Sorry to be a nuisance.”

“Not at all, Yuuri,” Victor dismisses, and begins to pull up a blanket to cover the human’s tired body. Yuuri has begun to feel the weight of the medicine dragging on his eyelids. “I feel partly responsible for your current predicament, and this is the least I can do to help. Besides…” He places a gentle hand on Yuuri’s chest, cradling his heart. “This may be a valuable opportunity for me to study your internal organs in more detail. It will certainly assist me greatly in treating you in future. Your heart, in particular...”

He trails off, and Yuuri must understand that the gentle drag of his thumb across his chest is a reverent caress. Victor stares somewhere below his collarbone, wide-eyed, awestruck.

“You really do think it’s beautiful, don’t you?”Yuuri whispers.

“Of course.” Victor looks up and meets his eyes. “It’s a thing of beauty keeping you alive, and even with my own enhanced senses I’ve never seen one quite like this. It is...dear to me, Yuuri.” He swallows, struggling to express his feelings about Yuuri’s mortality, how short his lifespan is compared to that of a higher vampire. Dwelling on it too much is painful. “I treasure each heartbeat you’ve been given as another moment I’m able to spend with you, and here I am, able to see each one. I confess, it’s had a profound effect on me.” 

A look of doubt and self-consciousness briefly crosses his face, then he shakes his head. “Or perhaps I’m making far much more of this than I should. Never mind. Don’t trouble yourself with my fancies, Yuuri. Sleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> I can resist Victor no more than anyone else can.


End file.
